Can't Keep Waiting
by Fayza Banks
Summary: Liz is forced to confront her feelings when a trap set for the Doctor leads to trouble for the Brigadier.
1. Chapter 1

**Can't keep waiting**

"Doctor, just once in a while, I wish you'd wait for back-up," said the Brigadier, pulling his gun from its holster as he preceded the Doctor through the door of the old house the Time Lord had led them to.

"Time distortions wait for no man, Brigadier," said the Doctor, breezing through the door as though he didn't have a care in the world, "One has to track them while they persist. Once they're gone…"

He looked down at the strange instrument he was carrying, and Liz wondered again what exactly the dials were supposed to measure. The Doctor had been tinkering with it when the strange readings began and he had scooped it up, announced that he had detected something 'odd', and rushed off to start Bessie. Liz and the Brigadier had barely had time to jump in the back of the car before it set off, and for once she was glad of the check-point gate, for it had allowed the Brigadier time to order the sentry to alert Captain Yates to their expedition. "Tell him to gather a team and follow us as soon as possible," he'd called, as the gate swung open and the Doctor pressed the accelerator.

Now, as she followed the two men into the house, Liz wondered if they weren't on a fool's errand. The place appeared to be deserted, the wood-panelled hallway evoking nothing more than a rich and lengthy history, rather than any sense of menace. She began to think that no-one had answered their knock because the owners of the place were out, and hoped that they wouldn't get arrested if the Lord of the Manor came home and found them sneaking about the place.

"Blast it. I've lost the signal," said the Doctor then, as though choosing a route at random, started up the staircase.

"If you ask me, it never existed," said Liz, drawing a pained look from the Brigadier as he passed her to precede her up the stairs, "You _were_ repairing that detector after all."

"Nonsense," came the reply from the top of the stairs, "It only needed a slight adjustment. It was never completely out of order."

Liz heard the Brigadier's sigh, and knew that he didn't believe that story any more than she did – but she noticed he still had his gun in his hand. The upstairs rooms were all empty, Liz gaining no more than glimpses of four-posters and walnut cabinets as they proceeded along a corridor and the Doctor flung doors open then closed them again. At the end of the corridor, one last door led into a Library, and the Doctor muttered with annoyance as he entered the room and put his strange machine down on the circular table in the middle of the room.

"Well, Doctor," said the Brigadier, putting his gun back in its holster, "It seems to me…"

He broke off suddenly, and after listening for a moment, Liz identified the noise that had alerted him – feet on stairs. Quiet, creeping feet that might have gone unheard by anyone but a trained soldier.

In another second, the Brigadier's gaze had swept around the room, and then he was pushing Liz and the Doctor toward a short staircase set against the back wall of the Library. "The mezzanine – quick!"

The stairs led to a tiny balcony that circuited the room. There was no other way on or off, so far as Liz could see, but a small balustrade ran around its outside edge and they all ducked down behind it just as the door opened and two men burst in, brandishing what looked like machine guns. With some sort of metallic helmet entirely covering their heads and faces, and what appeared to be flexible armour suits, Liz found herself wondering if they were human – though the voice that came from one of them sounded terrestrial enough: "Doctor!" he called, "We know you're in here! Your car's outside, and your time-detector is here on the table. Don't make us come up there and find you."

Liz saw the Brigadier glance around the balustrade and duck back, looking both furious and frustrated. She guessed that he knew his revolver would be useless against the body armour, and that he was angry and annoyed that there didn't appear to be anything he could do. The Doctor appeared to be on the point of standing up, and she was about to call out to him not to when the Brigadier intervened with a straight right. The punch was so sudden, so unexpected, that Liz gasped – and the Doctor fell without a sound, the Brigadier catching him as he fell and lowering him to the floor.

"If I come out," called the Brigadier, pulling off his beret, tie, holster and jacket as Liz looked on, "Will you leave my friends alone?"

"We're not interested in them. Just you, Doctor. Come down here alone and we won't hurt anyone."

Liz understood then what the Brigadier intended to do, and was horrified. "No!" She crawled the few yards to where he was tugging at the Doctor's jacket, and put a hand on his arm, whispering, "When they find out you're not him, they'll kill you!"

"It doesn't matter." Clear grey eyes looked straight into hers and her heart lurched. She knew she hadn't a hope of talking him out of this, as much as she wanted to – she had come to know that determined expression too well. "I'm expendable. He isn't." He pulled his arm free of her grip and, to her surprise, he gave a faint smile as he placed his hand gently against her cheek. "Nor are you."

With that, he pulled the blue velvet jacket over his shirt and stood up, hands raised. "Alright," he called, "I'm coming. Don't shoot."

As he turned to descend the little stairway, he shot Liz a last look and jerked his chin at the Doctor's still form. "Look after him," he murmured, "And tell him I'm sorry."

* * *

"Well, what about the helicopter, haven't they seen anything?"

The Doctor was sitting in one of the wing-backed armchairs in the ground floor smoking room, while Liz pressed a cold cloth against the bruise on his jaw. He had been in a fury since coming round, and she knew that his foul mood was due as much to worry about the Brigadier as it was to his annoyance at being knocked cold. At the moment, the object of his wrath was the hapless Captain Yates, who had done everything any of them could think of to track down the UNIT commander and the men who had taken him.

"We don't even know what sort of vehicle we're searching for, Doctor," said Yates, adding, with a sigh, "Or whether we're looking for a vehicle at all. That time device of yours…"

"Yes, yes, I know," muttered the Doctor, "They could have taken him any_when_, not just any_where_. But I don't think they have. I think that the time distortion I detected was a localised field, sent out to lure me here. I don't think it was used to actually transport anyone anywhere. We have to work on the assumption that the Brigadier is still in the here and now, Captain."

The young officer nodded. "I'll see how those road blocks are coming along," he said, and gave them a nod as he turned and exited.

The Doctor pushed Liz's damp cloth away, and she put it down on the small table next to him and stood up, feeling the need to do something, but unable to think of anything constructive. She paced back and forth, while her mind conjured all sorts of worst-case-scenarios and the Doctor sat rubbing his jaw, apparently lost in thought.

Picking up the Brigadier's jacket from the chair where it had been deposited by the Doctor, Liz folded it carefully over her arm and sat down. Absent-mindedly, she hugged it close, lowering her face toward it and catching the faint scent of expensive aftershave lingering on the cloth.

Feeling tears threatening, she jumped back up and draped the jacket over the back of the chair, smoothing it as she did so. Her fingers brushed against the neat rows of medal ribbons and she traced the edges of his Distinguished Service Order– a decoration she recognised from her grandfather's collection as being awarded for "conspicuous gallantry."

"Bloody idiot!" she blurted, wishing he had been a little less gallant and a little less brave – and knowing that she wouldn't admire him nearly as much if he had been.

"Oh dear." The Doctor's sad tones made her turn to face him, wondering what was the matter now. He was still sitting in the same chair, but his gaze was now directed at her and his expression was one of pity. "Poor Liz. You _have_ got it bad, haven't you?"

It took Liz a moment to work out what the Doctor was implying, and she put all the indignance she could muster into the single word, "_What?!"_

"Oh, come on, Liz, I haven't got to my age without being able to recognise the symptoms," he said, "All that sniping and sneering you do – I've seen it before, it's a defence mechanism. The Brigadier is tall, dark, handsome, brave, and has what my young companion Zoe once rather regrettably described as a 'come-to-bed' voice. He _also_ has some views and opinions which are diametrically opposed to yours. So you don't _want_ to want him, but you can't help yourself. Hence…" He picked up the cloth and brandished it at her, "The defence mechanism."

"But… that's just not true!" spluttered Liz.

Except that, now the Doctor had said it, she knew that it was.

Feeling suddenly weak and very foolish, she sat down again and said, "How long do you think it will take for them to realise he's not you?" Her voice sounded frail and soft, a reflection of how she felt, and for a brief moment she hated the Brigadier for making her feel this way, herself for giving in to it, and the Doctor for knowing it.

Then the Doctor answered her question, and helplessness overwhelmed her again despite her best efforts: "I don't know, Liz. I suppose it rather depends on what it is they want 'me' to do."


	2. Chapter 2

Benton appeared, bearing tea but nothing in the way of news. Liz watched the Doctor heap six teaspoons of sugar into his mug, stir, taste, and add a couple more.

She jumped, nearly spilling her own tea, as he suddenly slammed down the mug, slapped a palm to his forehead and said, "Of _course_!"

"Of course?" She placed her own mug on the table and sat forward. Benton, who had been heading for the door, stopped and looked back at the Doctor.

"My sonic screwdriver!" The Doctor stood up and spread his arms as if he'd just performed some sort of conjuring trick and expected applause.

"Sorry, Doc, I don't follow," said Benton.

"Neither do I," said Liz, getting to her feet, "Isn't your sonic screwdriver in your jacket?"

"Exactly!" he said, "The jacket the Brigadier is wearing. And if he has the presence of mind to switch in on, we can trace the frequency and triangulate his location."

* * *

Liz and the Doctor stood on the doorstep of the old farmhouse the trail had led to. Miles from the nearest village, it was the sort of remote outpost likely to be favoured by people who wanted to hide.

Despite the Doctor's blithe assurance that tracing the signal from his sonic screwdriver would be the work of a moment, it had actually taken them over seven hours to screen out interference, and to double-check the frequency and location. Getting to the middle of the Peak District had taken several more hours, and the light was fading – though that would help the UNIT troops who even now were dispersing into the woodland that surrounded the place, ready to move when the Doctor signalled.

Liz looked back along the rutted track that led to the house. The unmarked vehicle they had left at the side of the road was just visible beyond the stone gatepost, and she took a deep breath, nodded to the Doctor that she was ready.

Or at least as ready as she was ever likely to be. If this didn't work – or if the Brigadier was already…

She squashed the thought as the Doctor pressed a gloved finger to the doorbell and, for good measure, rapped on the door.

After waiting for almost a minute, he repeated the procedure, and this time the sound of boots on stairs preceded the door being wrenched open. "This is private property," said the hulking individual who confronted them, "Go away". Well over six feet tall, with a broken nose and muscles that stretched his T-shirt to bursting point, he looked as though nothing short of a bazooka would knock him over.

"Well, we're terribly sorry to bother you," said Liz, giving him her best 'helpless female' look, "But our car's broken down, and we wondered if we might use your phone to…"

"Ain't got one," he said, and jerked his chin in the direction of the distant village. "There's a box down the road."

"Oh dear," said the Doctor, tottering and clutching at his chest, "In that case, perhaps I might trouble you for a glass of water. My tablets you see…"

And before the man could react, the Doctor had managed to totter right into him and, with a couple of swift arm moves, dropped him to the floor unconscious.

"You'll have to teach me that some time," murmured Liz, as the Doctor turned to wave in the direction of Captain Yates' hidden Land Rover.

"Takes years to learn Venusian Aikido, my dear," he replied, stepping over the prone body in the doorway to lead the way inside, "But perhaps a couple of basic moves…" He stopped, and held up a hand, listening.

A moment later, a voice at the top of the stairs called, "Oy, Joe, what's going on down there?"

Liz heard footsteps overhead, and the Doctor drew her into an alcove a few feet along the hallway. She felt him tense for another confrontation, but the footsteps ended with a dull 'thud', followed by the sound of cursing, scuffling – and a shot.

"Come on!" Without waiting to see whether she followed, the Doctor charged up the stairs and Liz, fighting down a sick feeling of dread, forced herself to trail in his wake. Behind her, she could hear boot treads as the first UNIT soldiers reached the house.

When he reached the open door at the top of the stairs, the Doctor stopped in his tracks and Liz, bracing herself for what might lie beyond the threshold, peered past him into the room.

"Doctor! Miss Shaw!" The Brigadier was standing over a prone form in body armour, one booted foot on the man's throat. The gun in his right hand was aimed at the third of the room's occupants – though it looked unlikely that the man clutching the bullet wound in his left shoulder would be causing any further trouble any time soon. "That sonic thing worked then? I wasn't sure I'd switched it on properly."

"Brigadier," said the Doctor, "We'd rather assumed you needed help."

"Oh, I did," he said, "Couldn't take all of them on by myself. And they were starting to suspect that my brilliant improvisation over there wasn't actually a temporal stabiliser at all."

The Doctor chuckled and moved forward to take a closer look at the tangle of metal and wiring on the table in the middle of the room. "A crystal set, unless I'm mistaken – and I never am. Not quite in working order."

"Well, it's been thirty years since I last built one, Doctor," said the Brigadier, stepping back and putting the gun on the table as UNIT soldiers pounded into the room and took charge of the two floored men, "And I didn't have all the parts. Still, it kept them guessing for a while."

"And what would have happened when they stopped guessing?" Liz's emotions, wound to breaking point over the course of the day, snapped as she listened to the casual banter. As the soldiers marched their captives away down the stairs, she took a step towards the Brigadier, and heard herself shouting, "Of all the stupid, stubborn, pigheaded idiots! They'd have killed you without a second thought, and you stand there joking about some ridiculous piece of fritzed up wiring! What's the matter with you? Don't you _care_? Have you got a death wish or something? Just because you look better in that bloody jacket than _he_ does, you think you… you think… you…" As her brain finally caught up with her mouth and communicated the need to shut up now, she stammered to a halt. With a final exclamation of "Dammit!" she spun on her heel and ran down the stairs, brushing past an astonished-looking Captain Yates en route. She didn't stop till she reached the car.

As she fumbled in the glove-box for the cigarette packet she knew was in there, she realised the sun had set and it was now getting quite dark. She was grateful for it, as she could feel tears threatening, though she wasn't sure whether they were of anger, mortification or relief.

She found the cigarettes and put one between her lips, annoyed that it wouldn't stop shaking. She couldn't find her lighter, and tore the cigarette from her mouth, clutching it like a lifeline as she hunted through her bag.

Then the driver's door opened and slammed, as the Brigadier – still in the Doctor's blue velvet jacket – slid into the seat next to her. Without a word, he conjured a lighter from a pocket and held it steady while she lit her cigarette.

"Promised myself I'd given these up," she muttered, sitting back and taking a deep, calming drag.

"Me too," he said, taking one from the packet and lighting it.

He didn't say anything else, just sat quietly smoking, his face illuminated by the glow of the cigarette, clearly waiting for her to speak.

Liz finished her own cigarette, wound down the window and threw the butt outside. He did likewise, sat back, watching her. Still waiting.

"That was… very unprofessional of me. Yelling at you like that." She risked a glance at him, though in the darkness she could barely see him, let alone read his expression. "I'm sorry." She took a deep breath and let it out before she spoke again: "I'll let you have my resignation in the morning."

"Resignation? Liz, you don't have to resign! Not for that."

"It's not about that!" She half-turned in the seat to look across at him. "Don't you understand? I've been frantic with worry all day. I couldn't think, couldn't eat, couldn't…" She shook her head, "Couldn't function. I just kept remembering all the times you've nearly been killed – trapped in those Silurian caves, attacked by that plague-carrying scientist, shot at and hijacked by Carrington's men…" Her voice cracked and she pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and scrubbed furiously at her nose. "Then today…" She sniffed, stuffed the hanky back up her sleeve and took a deep breath. "I thought we'd be too late. And when I heard that gunshot…" She found his arm in the darkness and gripped it, felt warm fingers cover hers. She could feel his thumb stroking the back of her hand, heard his watch ticking and smelled the tobacco on his clothes. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper: "I can't keep waiting and wondering, while you rush in where Angels fear to tread."

"It's my job, Liz."

"No, it's not!" she snapped, pulling away from him, "You're a sodding _Brigadier_, for God's sake! Order someone else to lead the damn' charge – you don't have to!"

"I won't order anyone to do something I'm not prepared to do myself." His voice was gentler than she deserved, and she felt him tuck a stray strand of her hair back behind her right ear, and smooth it, "But you know that, don't you?"

His hand still lingered on her hair, and she put her own hand over his and turned her cheek to rest against his palm. With a quiet sigh of defeat, she murmured, "I suppose that's why I love you – but you know that, don't you?"

The driver's seat creaked as he moved closer, and she could feel his breath against her face as he spoke her name.

Then shouts sounded outside, doors slammed, and they pulled apart as the jeep behind them switched on its engine and its headlights.

Shouldering the door open, the Brigadier climbed out of the car and yelled his driver's name. Then he stepped back as the man came running, and Liz heard him say, "Take Miss Shaw to the billet, Wilson. The Doctor and I will take the jeep."

"Yes, sir." The young soldier slid into the empty driver's seat, and Liz sat back in hers. She could still feel her cheek tingling where she had pressed her face against the Brigadier's hand, and her heart was poundng from their almost-kiss.

"So." Her next words, spoken a little over-casually, were ostensibly aimed at the Private starting the car; but she knew they could equally well be aimed at the man walking toward the Land Rover in front: "Where do we go from here?"


	3. Chapter 3

The billet was a Queen Anne mansion somewhere south of Derby, which had taken three minutes to reach from the electronic gates that bore an 'MOD Property: Keep Out' sign.

As the car drew up behind the Brigadier's Land Rover at the front steps, Liz saw Corporal Palmer standing guard outside the front door. He snapped to attention as the Brigadier – still in the Doctor's jacket – jumped out of the vehicle's passenger seat, then saluted as the more properly-dressed Captain Yates emerged from the back of the jeep. She saw the Brigadier point at the car she was in, and he must have given Palmer an order, for the Corporal immediately scuttled down the steps and opened the door for her. "Do you have any luggage, Miss?"

She nodded, tiredly. "A small suitcase in the boot. Thank you, Corporal." It was only her 'emergency' case – not much in it besides a toothbrush, make-up, nightwear and a change of clothes – but she was glad she'd learned to keep it ready.

"We don't have any 'ot food, Miss," said Palmer, apologetically, as he carried her case through a marble-floored hallway and up a wide, carpeted staircase. "There'll be sandwiches and tea in half-an-hour though." He jerked a thumb. "Back down these stairs, turn right, second door on the left."

At the top of the stairs, he turned left, and proceeded along a corridor painted a depressing shade of green, passing three doors on the right and two on the left. At the end of the corridor, he opened the last door on the left and led the way into a room with an ancient canopied bed that occupied most of the floorspace. Placing her case on the utility beige counterpane, Palmer opened a door at the side of the room, and Liz glimpsed a tiled interior and a mirror. "'Ope you don't mind, Miss, but there are only two rooms with a bathroom adjoining. Only thing is, it's shared – but you can lock the door to the next room and the door to this room from both the inside and the outside, see?" He pointed to small brass bolts on each side of the bathroom door, and Liz could see a similar bolt on the inside of the door on the far side of the sink. "The plumbing's pre-war, but everything works alright." Crossing to the far door, Palmer pushed the bolt home, and added, "I'm sure the Brig won't mind if you has first dibs. But for God's sake, Miss, make sure you unbolt it when you've finished, eh?"

_Of course_, Liz thought, _It would have to be the Brigadier. RHIP, as Captain Yates was so fond of saying: Rank Hath Its Privilege._

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, and hoped Palmer hadn't noticed she was blushing.

He certainly seemed oblivious, leading the way back into the bedroom and pointing at the carved chest of drawers in one corner. "Pop your stuff in there if you like, Miss, there ain't nothing in it. Anything else you need…" He pointed at an old Bakelite telephone on the wooden bedside cabinet. "Just dial zero."

* * *

The MoD certainly knew how to live, Liz thought, looking around at the lounge's elderly but good quality furniture. Deep-pile carpet, overstuffed sofas, panelled walls, polished mahogany tables and what looked to be original oil paintings. "Some billet!" she murmured.

Captain Yates, currently the room's only other occupant, had been admiring the Reynolds over the fireplace, but turned around as she spoke and gave her a smile.

"Not sure the men would agree with you, Miss," he said, waving a hand toward the back of the building, "They're in the Nissan huts out back. Still - RHIP eh?"

"Apparently." Plates, napkins and a several large platters of sandwiches had been set out on a large table at the side of the room, and she eyed them, hungrily.

"I'm sorry, do pitch in," said Yates, "Tea's just coming."

"Where's the Doctor?" asked Liz, keeping her gaze on the sandwiches. She didn't need to ask about the Brigadier's whereabouts. The sound of running water just beyond her bedroom wall had told her exactly when he'd taken a shower, and she had spent the past fifteen minutes trying not to go hot picturing that. She'd also tried not to think about what sort of impression her earlier behaviour had made on the UNIT troops, and had toyed with the idea of staying in her room for the entire evening, but had eventually decided that that would only make things worse.

Besides, she was hungry.

Picking up a plate and a paper napkin, she helped herself to a couple of egg-and-cress, a tuna-and-cucumber, and what she thought might be chicken, remembering from past experience to leave the corned beef alone.

"Wise choice," said Yates, picking up a plate for himself and piling a half-dozen sandwiches on to it before he answered her question. "The Doctor's gone back to Headquarters. Said something about wanting to 'make sure our guests were properly looked after'."

"Properly looked…? But he can't possibly believe you'd mistreat them, surely?" A momentary doubt flickered at the back of Liz's mind and she added, more hesitantly, "You wouldn't – would you?"

Yates gave her a reassuring smile, and dropped onto one of the sofas. He examined his sandwiches as though trying to decide which ones were least likely to poison him, and said, "We're just going to keep them under lock and key till the Powers That Be decide what to do with them." He glanced up as a couple of young Lieutenants entered the room, told them to 'carry on, chaps', and returned his attention to Liz as she perched herself on the edge of one of the vast armchairs. "There won't be much need to interrogate them – after all, they thought the Brigadier was the Doctor, remember. They pretty much told him everything he needed to know."

"Which was?"

"That they're from the future." As the Brigadier's voice from the doorway answered Liz's question, Yates and both Lieutenants jumped to attention. "As you were," he said, wandering across to the sandwiches and piling his plate. He was back in his uniform, looking smart, efficient and completely in charge, and Liz hurriedly switched her gaze to her plate as he looked in her direction. Stepping over the coffee table, he sat down next to Captain Yates, said "For goodness' sake, sit down!" to the Lieutenants, who were lingering uncertainly beside the fireplace, and munched a mouthful of tuna-and-cucumber sandwich before continuing with his explanation. "They claim to have met the Doctor before – or some version of him anyway. They'd asked for his help to complete their experiments with time travel, he'd have none of it, and took himself off in his TARDIS." He finished the sandwich, and looked around as the rattle of cups and saucers announced Sergeant Benton's arrival with the tea.

"But if they travelled here from the future," said Liz, as the Sergeant placed two brimming cups on the low table in front of the sofa, "They must have completed their experiments. Why did they still want the Doctor's help?"

"Ah." The Brigadier stirred his tea and sipped it, while behind him Benton poured tea for the other officers. "Well it seems that they hadn't entirely solved two-way travel. They could travel to the past – obviously – but couldn't return to their own time without…" He shrugged. "Well, I didn't understand the technicalities, but I did grasp that the first returnees had sort of… uh… dissolved."

"Sounds nasty," said Yates. He picked up the last of the sandwiches on his plate and bit off a corner.

"Downright messy, from what I could gather," said the Brigadier, "So you can see why they wanted the Doctor's help. And since they had no idea where he'd gone after he left them, they came looking for him in the only place and time where they could be sure of his whereabouts: earth, and now."

"So they're stuck here then?" said Liz, draining her tea and sitting forward to replace the cup on the saucer, "They can't travel back to their own time?"

"Not in one piece," said the Brigadier, "In any case, we've confiscated all their equipment."

"So what will happen to them?"

"That will be Geneva's call," he said, "But ultimately they'll probably be split up, assigned to UNIT specialists in different countries, and integrated into the present day." He picked up another sandwich and, just before biting into it, added, "It goes without saying that we would welcome any help they might give us to advance our own technology."

"Yes," said Yates, "Like that armour stuff they were wearing. Now that would be a useful piece of kit!"

"So would those guns," said one of the Lieutenants from his seat beside the fireplace, testing the conversational waters.

The Brigadier nodded. "The one I fired had a lovely balance," he said, "And hardly any recoil at all."

Liz got to her feet, half-amused and half-irritated that the men all politely stood up as she made for the door. "If you are all going to start discussing the merits of shells and shields," she announced, "I'm going to take a bath."

* * *

Tying her robe just a little tighter around herself, Liz unfastened the bolt on the inside of the door that led to the Brigadier's room and, taking a deep breath, knocked on it.

"It's open."

She opened the door just enough to slide around it, halting with her hand still on the door handle and one foot still in the bathroom. The Brigadier was sitting on his bed, propped against the carved oak headboard. His jacket, tie and boots had been discarded, and he was holding a copy of 'The Day of the Jackal'.

"The… um… bathroom's free."

"Obviously." He closed the book, threw it onto his bedside table, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. She saw his gaze slide from her face all the way down to her bare feet and back up again, and for a moment she wondered whether she ought to just rush back through the bathroom and hide away in her own room till he'd gone back to HQ in the morning. Then he said, quietly, "I think you'd better come in."

Standing up, he waved her to an armchair in the corner, and drained the dregs of amber fluid from the glass tumbler on his bedside table. He hefted the glass, questioningly: "Drink?"

She shook her head, and he moved around the bed to refill his glass from one of the bottles set out on top of the oak cabinet on the far side of the room.

"I wasn't sure you'd be in here," she lied, casting about for something innocuous to say, "I thought you'd be enjoying all that soldier-talk for hours yet."

He shook his head, and walked back across the room, placing his charged glass on the bedside table before seating himself on the edge of the bed, facing her. "As you so eloquently pointed out earlier this evening, my dear Liz, I'm a sodding Brigadier," he said, his tone quiet and matter-of-fact. "My junior officers are never going to relax while I'm in the room, not even if we're all supposedly off-duty."

"Oh. No, I suppose not." It genuinely hadn't occurred to her before, and she suddenly understood why he confided so much in herself and the Doctor: there simply wasn't anyone else around he could talk to on level terms. She reached across to put a hand on his arm. "Alistair…"

"Don't." It was more of a plea than an order, and he made no move to pull away. His eyes were searching her face but wouldn't quite meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, Liz." He looked down, covered her hand with his own and then, very gently, lifted it away from his arm and released it. "You were right. You have to resign."

"But you said…"

"I know what I said." With a sigh, he got to his feet, touching her face gently with the backs of his fingers before turning away to pick up his glass and take a large draught of its contents. "I was kidding myself."

She wanted to touch him, and clasped her hands together in her lap to prevent herself doing so. "Is this about not wanting to break the rules?" she guessed, a harsh edge in her voice betraying exactly what she felt about mindless military regulations and the obedience thereof.

He put the glass down and turned around, leaning back against the edge of the bedside table. "The rules are there for a reason, Liz." He folded his arms, and this time when he looked at her he held her gaze. "I need everyone under my command to know that I give orders without fear or favour. How long do you think those men downstairs would believe in me, if they ever even suspected that I might be weighing every order against whether it could put your life in danger?"

"Well, they wouldn't have to know! Would they?" Even as she said it she knew it was a forlorn hope.

His mouth quirked in one of those almost-smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. Mike already knows. So does the Doctor. They'd worked it out before I did."

She smiled at that. "The Doctor was ahead of me too." Pulling her gaze from his, Liz focussed instead on the swirling pattern on the candlewick bedspread in front of her, and pushed away the thought that resigning would mean she wouldn't get to see him every day. Maybe not even every week. But there would, she realised, be a positive side to not being with UNIT, and she seized on it: "Alright. Alright - I'm wasted here anyway, passing the Doctor his bloody test tubes and telling him how brilliant he is. If I go back to Cambridge I won't be your subordinate any more, and I won't be so very far from London - we could see each other without worrying about any stupid regulations…"

"No, Liz!"

He pushed away from the table he'd been leaning on and snatched up his whisky glass, swallowing half of what was left before he turned toward her again. Sitting down once again on the edge of the bed, he stared into what was left of his drink as he said, quietly, "You need to understand. It's not just regulations. It's not just protocol. It's _me_." He looked across at her, just for a moment, and she leaned toward him as she read the anguish in his eyes.

The silence stretched and she was beginning to think he wouldn't say anything else. Then she heard him sigh and, without looking at her, he said, quietly: "Ten years ago, I met a girl I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. For two years, I thought she felt the same way about me, but as soon as I was posted overseas she stopped writing to me – didn't answer my letters, didn't send me so much as a Christmas card. Then Fiona…" He shook his head, stood up, drained his drink and spun around to rest the empty glass on the table. "Turned out she couldn't cope with the army either. Now you."

"Alistair…" She stood up, and took a step toward him, but before she could touch him he let go of the tumbler and turned toward her.

"Please, Liz." Catching her left hand in his right, he rested his other hand on her shoulder. "Leaving aside that I'm still…" He swallowed, and lifted his head to look ceilingward for a moment, before he went on, "Still hurting. And leaving aside the way I feel about you…" He raised his hand from her shoulder and tucked her hair behind her right ear, just as he had done in the car. "I can't go through that again. If you can't cope with what I do, it's best if we never see each other again. If we do, then sooner or later my job will get in the way, because even if you're safe in Cambridge, I'll still be here, in the line of fire."

She stared up at him, stricken. "Never see you again? Alistair, I can't do that!"

"You must! Liz…"

"No!"

"Please."

"I won't." She shook her head. "I can't."

Then, to her astonishment, he laughed and, as she looked up in amazement, he said, "Good Lord, woman, will you ever stop arguing with me?"

"No," she said, stubbornly, "Not if I can help it."

Then somehow his arms were around her, his mouth was on hers, and Liz slid her arms around his neck, tasting the whisky on his lips as she kissed back, hard, losing herself in the moment.

"Run." His voice was low, raw, his mouth still resting against hers. "Run back to Cambridge." His mouth trailed hot kisses across her cheek and along her jaw. "Run to someone safe, and secure, and dependable." He was nibbling her ear as he whispered into it, and Liz tangled her fingers in his hair and slid her other hand down his back to pull him closer. "Run, Liz. Please." His hands slid inside her robe and brushed over warm skin.

"Tomorrow," she managed, moving her hand around to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, "I'll run tomorrow…"


End file.
